The Pudding Lane Witch, page 5
“Oh, I see, okay. Thank you,” Gweneviere said, becoming less enthusiastic as the Crone explained the certain conditions of her stay.
“I shall see you at dinner,” the Crone concluded, leaving Gweneviere to become acquainted with her corner of the room.
Gweneviere sat on her bed trying her best to hold back the tears, as all she could think about was her parents. She missed them so much, and now she was going to have to rely on her lacking social skills to make friends – or at least some semblance – to get her through to graduation. She was hoping to graduate with the other eighteen-year-olds in a couple months as she winced at the thought of having to stay there any longer.
Shortly after the Crone left, Gweneviere’s new roommates strode into the room laughing and giggling. One of them carrying a pile of freshly ironed and folded linens with a dress atop it.
“Hello, I’m Poppy,” said the chipper young witch.
She was a beautiful girl with soft features and a smooth pale complexion, though most people were pale in those days. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a pink and white checked cloth. The two witches either side of her were twins, with almost identical faces apart from the giant mole that one of them had on their chin. Not that it seemed to affect her confidence, as she and her sister were quite poised upon their first-time meeting Gweneviere, giving her a disapproving look up and down.
“And this is Gertrude and Glenda,” Poppy added, introducing the girls whose faces looked as though they were constantly sucking a lemon.
“I’m Gweneviere, nice to meet you.” She awkwardly smiled, attempting make a good first impression.
“Nice to meet you too, Gwen. Is it alright if I call you Gwen? It’s much easier, less syllables to get my mouth around,” Poppy asked, giggling.
“Er, yeah, sure.” It was a nickname that only her parents had ever used until now, but it did feel nice to hear someone say it again, especially knowing that they couldn’t anymore.
“Great, well, Gwen. I believe these are yours.” Poppy presented Gweneviere with her bed linens and dinner dress.
“Thanks, I suppose I better make my bed and change for dinner, then,” Gweneviere replied, as she took the pile of cloth from Poppy’s arms.
“Yes, won’t be long now. Let me know if you need any help or anything, okay?” Poppy offered, clearly the kinder of her three new roommates.
In fact, Gertrude and Glenda hadn’t said a word to Gweneviere; they just watched her from afar.
An hour or so later, dinner was about to be served. Each girl had a named seat, usually among their roommates. Gweneviere’s name placement was next to Poppy who, so far, had seemed rather nice, and was sat across from the twins who still hadn’t spoken a word to Gweneviere. There was a buzzing sound from all the girls nattering amongst themselves. Poppy seemed rather popular at the dining table, but made sure to not leave Gweneviere to fend for herself.
“How are you settling in then, Gwen? Not too anxious, I hope?” Poppy asked.
“It’s okay. Though, I get a feeling that the twins don’t like me,” Gweneviere answered. Every time her eyes glanced over at the two other witches, they were simply glaring back.
“Oh, don’t worry about those two, it’s a twin thing; they just don’t mingle with the rest of us all that much. To be perfectly honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if they opted to share a husband at graduation.”
“Ah yes, graduation.” Gweneviere slumped in her seat. “I think I’m more worried about that than the actual school, come to think of it. I mean, do you really adhere to the idea that all we can become in life is a tool to better a man?”
“Of course not, but listen, there are many reasons people choose this life. Some have no choice, others want a rich man and don’t mind being a lacky, but I want to do something with my life. This is a much more sure-fire way to get some status by marrying a Lord. This world isn’t made for us, you’re right, so we must exploit it in every way we can. The sooner you realise that, Gwen, the sooner you’ll be in control of your own destiny. Besides, when I watched graduation last year, the men were actually rather fetching, so here’s hoping for a good one.”
“Yeah, here’s hoping,” Gweneviere replied, as she mulled over Poppy’s speech.
“Oh, shh. Matriarch is here,” Poppy announced to the table.
When the Crone entered the dinner hall it was always common courtesy for all the girls to stand until she was seated at the head of the table, the table that sprawled the entire length of the food hall, and amazingly seated all forty girls, four teachers, and the Crone. Lanterns hung from chains above at different heights to keep in touch with the mystical, medieval vibe that the school had. The walls were decorated with even more portraits of past alumni. Gweneviere looked around wondering if she might be among them one day.
Once the Crone had made it to her seat, she waved her hand, signalling that everyone else may take their seats again. She raised a glass and tapped the side with a salad fork.
“Girls, as you may have noticed, we have a new recruit among our ranks – Gweneviere. I expect you all to make her feel welcome, as she has promised the same pledge to this fine institution as the rest of you. Now then, Gweneviere, stand for a moment, will you, and tell all the girls your natural talent,” the Crone pronounced, raising her glass.
“Er… hello, everyone,” Gweneviere nervously muttered. “I’m a pyrokinetic.”
All of the girls oohed and aahed in response, before Gweneviere once again took her seat, unsure to whether they were being sarcastic or not.
“Oh, come on, Gweneviere, do a little more than that. Show the girls your powers,” the Crone encouraged.
“Oh, okay.”
Gweneviere stood back up, awkwardly smiling at the table of witches. She pondered what to do when Gertrude and Glenda simultaneously asked her to make the lanterns brighter. It was as if they knew what Gweneviere was thinking. She took them up on their suggestion as Poppy gave her a nod of encouragement. She looked up at the sea of lanterns above her and held her hands out to them, causing the room to become blindingly bright. The Crone applauded at the sight. Gweneviere got carried away, however, making the entrapped flames grow larger to the point where it eventually became too much and shattered the glass lantern cages. Shards began to rain down, but Poppy stood up and braced herself with her hands out. She froze every single shard in the air before any could come close enough to harm someone. She redirected the dazzling fractured pieces of glass and gathered them into a pile in the corner of the room using her telekinetic abilities.
“I’m so sorry,” Gweneviere grovelled, fearing expulsion on her first day.
“Nonsense, my dear. That was an excellent display of magics, from both of you girls, I’m very impressed. Though, we will need you to relight the room for the evening whilst we acquire some more lanterns.”
“Oh, sure. No problem.” Gweneviere summoned two globes of fire in her hands before enlarging them and floating them above the end of each table.
“Ahh, wonderful, Gweneviere. Right, girls, dinner is served,” the Crone concluded.
“Gwen, why didn’t you say you were a pyrokinetic witch? That’s amazing,” Poppy exclaimed giddily, as their food was being served.
“It is?” Gweneviere questioned, not really knowing much about witches other than her and her mother’s abilities.
“Yeah, duh. Most of these girls would kill to have a power like ours.”
“Ours?”
“Oh, sorry, how rude of me, I am a telekinetic,” Poppy said proudly.
“Oh, that’s how you managed to save us from the glass?”
“Yes, and girls with any kinetic powers like ourselves are usually the popular kids.”
“Popular? Oh, I’m not sure if that’ll be me. To be honest, I’ve never been much of a social butterfly,” Gweneviere revealed, feeling rather sorry for herself.
“Nonsense, we’ll have you a group of friends in no time.” Poppy smiled.
“Can I ask what the twin’s powers are?” Gweneviere whispered.
“We’re telepaths,” the twins responded almost instantly, not needing to hear Gweneviere. They had already read her mind.
“Is that why you told me to light the lanterns before? Because you could hear my thoughts?” Gweneviere asked.
“No, we just knew you’d cause a scene like that,” they said, laughing in unison.
“Oh… I see, but you did read my mind just then, when I was asking about your powers?”
“Yes, bloody hell, anything else? Lighten up, question master,” they said at the same time, before turning to their bowls of broth.
Gweneviere was taken back by their oddness and repositioned herself to convene with Poppy instead.
“What kind of broth is this, anyway?” Gweneviere asked, not being too keen on the presentation, as she scooped it up and poured it back into her bowl.
“I don’t know, I just eat whatever is in front of me. It usually tastes good,” Poppy answered, as she delicately slurped up the mysterious liquid.
Gweneviere began to swirl her spoon around her broth and looked around to see everyone else tucking in, before she caught the Crone’s milky eye watching her, making her jump. She turned back to the bowl and took a sip of the broth with her eyes closed, hoping that somehow it would allow her to not taste the food, but to her surprise, it was amazing. It was far better than anything Gweneviere could ever cook up herself. She swiftly cleaned the rest of the bowl in no time, only to be surprised once more as dessert was placed in front of her. It was some sort of malted fruit loaf with a drizzle of custard. Gweneviere was practically drooling, as she couldn’t remember the last time she had enjoyed a dessert. She and her father hadn’t been able to afford such luxuries since they left home, so she lapped up every last sugary spoonful. It was like fireworks on her tongue; so much flavour that she had been denied for so long. Maybe this whole ‘school’ thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Gweneviere spent the following months learning how to be the perfect house witch. She still loathed the lessons, which involved learning how to prepare meals, sew, and clean in the most efficient ways, as well as etiquette classes. Gweneviere had all the grace of a reversing dump truck. Although she didn’t act the part, when she had been tied and squashed into her unbearably uncomfortable corseted dresses, she certainly looked it. Her slumping grades were much to her teacher’s disappointment as they could see the potential that Gweneviere possessed.
Graduation was fast approaching, and Gweneviere was unsure whether she wanted to graduate or not. She had, surprisingly, come to enjoy living among peers, and the thought of having to trade that in for married life was scary to say the least. Gweneviere, on occasion, would sabotage herself in assessments that would count towards her final grade. It was all in the hopes that she might get one more year of being free, or at least as free as a witch could be. Although Gweneviere may have been cleverly fooling her teachers, the Crone was not so easily deceived.
“Gwen, Matriarch would like to see you in her study,” Poppy told her, popping out of nowhere.
“Oh, do you know why?” Gweneviere pondered aloud.
“No, she just told me to fetch you, but don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll be nothing.”
“Okay, wish me luck, I guess,” Gweneviere said, walking away from Poppy and the twins.
Once she reached the Crone’s office, she poked her head through the half-open door,
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, close the door and take a seat, dear,” the Crone instructed, waiting for Gweneviere to be seated before she continued. “Now then, your teachers have been informing me that you haven’t been performing up to scratch lately.”
She said no more, looking to Gweneviere for an explanation.
“Er, yeah. I guess, I’m just finding certain aspects of the curriculum hard to achieve,” Gweneviere stuttered.
“Is that right?” The Crone paused briefly, before continuing to speak. “Gweneviere, I’m not stupid, and I would implore you not to treat me as such. Now, please, tell me the real reason you are purposely failing your tests.”
The Crone’s voice was eerily calm, and Gwenivere could feel a cold sweat forming on the back of her neck.
“I would never purposely fail, I promise,” she lied.
“Gweneviere! I just said do not treat me as a fool. The condition of me taking you in was that you swore to take this place seriously and learn all you can while having an open mind to our end goal. Or don’t you remember?” the Crone barked, having had quite enough of Gweneviere’s act.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I have been failing on purpose,” Gweneviere admitted, sighing in defeat.
“Might I ask why?”
“I’m scared to be wed. What if I end up with a horrible husband and end up hating my life forever?” Gweneviere asked, getting teary eyed.
“Gweneviere,” the Crone said softly, “I would never intentionally provide any of my girls with a horrific man for a husband. I do my best to seek out the most exemplary and noble gentlemen about London to persuade them to take one of my girls in marriage. Now, I know you have never wanted this life and, believe it or not, I understand, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re living in a world that is designed to cut away at our legs with every step we climb. You, Gweneviere, are the one who will live to see that change. I sense it in you; I’ve always sensed it, since that first day we met. I knew you had longevity in your blood. If you pick your battles wisely, you will live for hundreds of years and see in a new era, a new millennium, even, where witches aren’t in need of marriage to do as they see fit. In the meantime, however, you need to make every ally you can and take advantage of every opportunity that you are presented with. Otherwise, you will never live to see that day. Now then, graduation is next week, you will re-sit your failed tests in a lone classroom with me as the invigilator and you will graduate, understood?”
“Yes, Matriarch,” Gweneviere happily conceded.
She knew the Crone was right, if she was going to make something of herself, she would have to use any leg up she could get, starting with marrying a man of greatness.
It was the night of graduation, which consisted of the graduating witches dressing in their best garb before lining up in the dinner hall. The dinner hall had been turned into a ballroom for the night, where the girls would wait for their future husbands to take their pick and be married off. Only the girls from the year below were allowed to watch the ceremony, so that they could get a taste for what lay ahead for them at their graduation.
Gweneviere, Poppy, and the twins were all getting ready in their room. They had each designed and fashioned their own wedding-cum-graduation dresses as a part of one of their final assessments, though Gweneviere had a helping hand from Poppy, seeing as she had only just recently agreed to even graduate. The twins, of course, had identical black dresses matching the peculiarly dark outlook they had on life. May God protect the man that had to wed a telepath; they’d know about every little mischievous thought. Today, more than any other day, they couldn’t be told apart – even the tell-tale chin mole had been hidden by the ruffled and ruched turtleneck on their gothic dresses.
Poppy had a large, billowingly beautiful, baby pink dress that accentuated her womanly features perfectly. It was clear that, out of them all, she was the most suited to become a man’s beautiful arm candy. Gweneviere, on the other hand, having chosen the design herself, went for a forest green dress that was rather slim lined and silky looking. Poppy tried her best to add some glamour and sparkle where she could, but at the end of the day it was still Gweneviere’s dress, so she had the last say.
“You know, I’m surprised you came around to the whole wedding idea,” Poppy commented as she helped Gweneviere tighten the corsetry of her dress.
“Me too, Poppy, me too,” Gweneviere agreed.
Unfortunately for Gweneviere, the uncomfortable undergarment was deemed a necessary element to pass the test, so she couldn’t bypass it, much that she wished she could.
“For what it’s worth, Gwen, I think you’ll make a wonderful wife and mother one day.”
“Thanks, Poppy, though I don’t have a maternal bone in my body, so maybe they can come live with their fun Aunt Poppy instead,” Gweneviere joked, knowing she had no intention of having children anytime soon, if at all.
“Oh, Gwen, you are a real laugh. I’m going to miss having you around,” Poppy confessed, tearing up.
“Oh, stop it.” Gweneviere tried playing cool, but as Poppy leant in for a hug, she couldn’t help but accept the fact that she had finally made a real friend as she let a single tear drop onto Poppy’s hoop skirt.
“Right, come on, girls. Let’s show these boys what a sexy witch looks like,” Poppy announced, wiping her eyes and leading the girls through the school and into the ballroom. “Oh, Gwen. Don’t forget to brag about how quickly you can heat up an iron, or pot of water.”
Poppy’s comment was sincere, but it just made Gweneviere giggle at her friend’s innocent advice.
The graduating girls lined up in the centre of the room looking poised and ready to bag themselves a prospective husband. One by one, the eligible bachelors entered the room and walked past the line of girls. They made sure to allow each woman to introduce themselves, before deciding on which they would marry, because apparently that was all a man needed to know to decide what maiden he would want to spend the rest of his life with – if he was faithful, that is.
The Crone had mentioned that the order which the men were picked to enter in was random, though it soon became apparent that, clearly, the worst had been saved until last. The first couple of men actually seemed to be a catch – they were handsome, charming and even seemed to respect the girls. None of them, however, picked Gweneviere and, of course, Poppy was the first to be picked. In fairness, she deserved it. She’d spent every waking moment in that school preparing herself to be the perfect wife and witch.
